


Cigarrette

by Albilibertea



Category: DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Nightwing: New Order, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albilibertea/pseuds/Albilibertea
Summary: Damian doesn’t smoke.But after the outrageous announcement and cold-as-ice gaze from Grayson in the late afternoon, Damian suddenly realises the white object in his hand is surprisingly not that bad after all.





	Cigarrette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleSongBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSongBird/gifts).
  * A translation of [Thuốc lá](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253144) by [LittleSongBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSongBird/pseuds/LittleSongBird). 



> Damian 18-21, Jon 15-19

Damian doesn’t smoke.

He isn’t opposed to it, but has never touched it once.

Damian doesn’t smoke, simply because he feels like he isn’t _that_ pathetic yet.

But after the outrageous announcement and cold-as-ice gaze from Grayson in the late afternoon, Damian suddenly realises the white object in his hand is surprisingly not that bad after all.

 _It is necessary that we eliminate the super-powered beings_ , his voice was as light as a feather, floating amidst the heavy air of the room. Drake bit his lips, Todd angrily slammed the door shut behind him, and Damian saw stars.

 _They don’t belong to this world, and their existence, sooner or later, would kill our planet_ , his arms opened wide like a benevolent preacher showing his long lost believers the light.

Damian stared at the person in front of him. The Dick Grayson he knew would never talk like that, would he?

_Either they die or we do, don’t you understand?_

No, he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand the madman posed as his brother standing across the room, he also couldn’t understand his body as it bound and attacked him.

Of course, he wasn’t strong enough to defeat Grayson. He couldn’t, then, when he was slammed down on the floor, and he can’t, even now, as he leans against the wall of his darkened room.

 _So cigarette uses these weakness to take down a man huh_ , he wondered.

Look at his family, the beloved heroes respected by thousands of people, Gotham’s trusted guardians, the flickering light at the heart of this filthy city, all defeated by this little cancer stick.

Father never smokes in front of other people, and the ashtray in the Manor is always clean, but Damian knows better than that. He knows the pervasive odour in Father’s room isn’t perfume, and it isn’t for no reason that the bill for cigarette to Wayne Manor keeps pilling up month by month.

After a long period of shutting herself in with cigarette and alcohol, Gordon announced she had got rid of it altogether. Yet with the amount of work she must handle everyday, who could resist one or two drag once in a while out on the balcony?

Drake was the most adamant objector to cigarette, the nuisance kept droning on and on with his boring speech about health problems. _Was_ , until the night he received news about Conner Kent’s death.

Todd never appears without a cigarette in hand. Or tucked at the corner of his smirking lips. But despite the indifferent attitude and the shameless offer of _Hey you short devil, want a smoke?_ , Damian could clearly see the bloodshot lines in those blue eyes devoid of life. _Thank you, I’m not that insane yet_.

Yet now he is at the verge it seems.

 _You are no different than them, Damian_. The flickering flame of the lighter is laughing at his face.

He cups his hands together and brings the flame closer to the cigarette on his lips, inhaling as the tip catches fire.

And exhales.

Nothing happens.

Yes, when hot air suddenly surges down his throat, it feels sore. And his mouth is dried, and there is nothing left on his tongue but a faint, bitter aftertaste of long forgotten dust.

Apart from that, nothing special. Not as special as he used to believe. Not enough to untangle the mess of knots that is his mind right now.

Annoyed, angry and upset, he bites down hard on the filter and takes a long drag, then coughs violently. And continues again.

Just like that, again and again, until he feels like his body is floating, like he’s going to dissolve into pieces of coloured glass.

And he doesn’t feel the headache anymore.

Inhale, sweet smoke curls around each cell structure in his lungs, Grayson’s words is like a recorded tape, resonates clearly by his ears.

Exhale, his nostrils dilate as he leans a little backwards, before him is a vast, green grassland shrouded by a thin veil of smoke, is the proud red S stands out on the blue jacket, is the messy raven hair drenched in sunlight, is the giggle that contains all the warmth of a sweet summer afternoon when there were just the two of them.

_Come on, you can do better than that, Damian._

He barks out a laugh.

So this is why everyone is addicted to this tiny thing?

He takes another drag. Maybe right now, when Damian is cowering in a corner of his room, Jon is trying to run for his life from the pursue of Grayson’s soldiers.

Maybe he has been caught already.

Damian doesn’t want to believe, but anything is possible. Grayson’s words don’t hold any weight anymore.

But then, being captured won’t stop him from fighting back. He couldn’t even stand being grounded in the house for a few days.

Damian lets out a laugh at the scenario he draws up from the smoke.

Yes, Jon _loves_ freedom. If it hadn’t been for fear of his parents, he would have spent days flying through wisps of white cloud as soft as rabbit tail, helping people in trouble or rescuing cats from trees, _the stuffs you are supposed to do, Dami_.

So Damian won’t let anyone take away that freedom from him, hold him down with cuffs and cage him behind the cold steel bars, even if that’s Grayson.

He takes another drag. His lips tremble and tears start brimming at the bloodshot eyes.

_Especially because it’s Grayson._

Putting the unfinished cigarette down the ashtray on the table, Damian stands up.

Light from outside pours in the dark room, before there’s a creak of the door closing, then disappears as if it has never been there.

Wait for me, Jon.

I would not let any harm come to you.

On the table, the filter has dulled, cold as stone. Grey ashes scatters down the ashtray like a careless afterthought. But inside, a small flame still smoulders, a flicker of light in the dark.

**~End.**

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy it because it destroys me thoroughly which is why I just have to translate it.
> 
> For LittleSongBird, cảm ơn em và chị hy vọng em thích bản dịch này <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated so the original writer can know people enjoy her writing as well!


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